Media.Knet.Ca

As the Nishnawbe Aski Nation’s conference on youth suicide came to a close, 22-year-old Jordan Quequish had time to reflect on what it all meant.

“These workshops helped (the youth) understand who they were, they got to ask questions about the traditional ways of life,” he said. “Most importantly they learned how precious they are. As a community, we are precious.”

Speaking softly but eloquently, the young man from North Caribou Lake talked about the terrible tragedies he and his family had experienced. As a young boy, he was sexually attacked by four men on separate occasions. By the time he was four, he had lost his first family member to suicide.

“There just really is nothing to do there,” he said of the two remote reserves he has lived on. “A lot of my people were abused and don’t have any hope, so they take their own lives.”

Quequish said after his first cousin died the problems seemed to snowball. Now he has lost 15 friends and family members to suicide, and he was almost one of them.

“So many times I wanted out of this world, you have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “So many times I asked God why he put me here, what was I supposed to do?”

Fortunately, Quequish was able to find the answer to his questions through spirituality. Determined to break out of the cycle of abuse and depression that plagues too many First Nations communities, he made it a personal mission to bring tradition back to his people.

This was no easy task. As Quequish explained, traditional spirituality and customs were virtually non-existent on his reserve. He tried to speak with his grandfather, an elder, who had lived through some of the worst dismantling of native culture.

“My grandfather told me that the government came and told us to strip ourselves of our old ways of life. If we didn’t stop, then they told us we were going to prison,” he said. “The elders were so scared that they went along with it, and eventually started to see the (traditional practices) in the same way, like witchcraft.”

The effects of cultural loss and the disaster of residential schools left communities like Quequish’s in shambles. NAN Grand Chief Stan Beardy spoke about this same issue in December following the Kelowna agreement. He, and many others, have said these problems continue to trickle down generation after generation and the cycle of poverty, abuse and depression never stops.

“About 90 per cent of NAN people are impacted negatively by residential schools still,” he said. “The majority of my people don’t have parenting skills because when you grow up in an institution, you don’t learn normal behaviours. You don’t have the usual avenues for expressing emotions. The learned to be ashamed of expressing any sort of emotion, that’s why they don’t cry, they don’t laugh. And the majority of suicide victims are products of residential school parents.”

Beardy attributed this to the abuse that stemmed from repressed emotions and negative past experience, which continues to repeat itself in small communities.

“And when our young people go through problems or challenges, they have no one to turn to, no one to share life experience or teachings with them. There is a major lack of a support mechanism.”

While Beardy and other First Nations officials fight for policy changes, Quequish and the NAN Decade of Youth Council are using tradition to fight modern problems. The goal of the conference was not only to talk openly about suicide, but to help youth appreciate the beauty and strength of their culture.

“What was really amazing was seeing the relationships that developed between the elders and the young people,” said Decade of Youth coordinator Melanie Goodchild-Southwind. “This was a very safe environment where culture was flourishing. It was the way it could have been for our ancestors.”

The teaching sessions included things like hand drumming, sacred firekeeping, powwows and different sacred dances.

“That is suicide prevention in action,” Goodchild-Southwind said. “Self-esteem is built when this happens, when youth learn about themselves.”

This is what Quequish felt when he returned to his roots several years ago, although it wasn’t met with much enthusiasm.

“Back home I was wearing long braids and sometimes my (traditional) ribbon shirt,” he said. “And my own people called me a crazy Indian.”

Nevertheless, Quequish soldiered on. He is one of the only grassdancers in his area, and continues to encourage his peers and elders alike to embrace the old ways.

“Some are starting to be more traditional in a quiet way,” he said. “Things are slowly changing, but one day it’s going to be rapid. Our generation will do a lot more, I think.”

“One day I’m going to turn around my community. I’m going to be a leader of my community.”

On that last day of the conference, Quequish sat by the sacred fire that burned all week long.

“When we light the sacred fire, all of our past elders come to be with us,” he said. “This same fire burns in our hearts, our hearts that beat to the same drum in our nation. It’s the heartbeat of our people.”

Goodchild-Southwind said Quequish is a great example that change is possible. She said there was an overwhelming consensus that the conference was a start to something really positive, and NAN will definitely consider hosting another one.